


ambarsariya

by starrydoie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Desi!NCT, Desi!dotae, Fluff, How Do I Tag, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung is Bad at Feelings, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung is Whipped, Kite Fights, Lee Taeyong is Whipped, M/M, Mutual Pining, Short & Sweet, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydoie/pseuds/starrydoie
Summary: on an average sunday afternoon, while flying kites with his friends, lee taeyong falls in love.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung & Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	ambarsariya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandering_clouds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_clouds/gifts).



> For those who need it:  
> “Ami” = Mom  
> “Gali” = Street  
> “Beta”= Son  
> “Jaan”= General term of endearment, means “soul” :D  
> “Yaar” = urdu equivalent of words like “dude” and “bro” :DD

Ami always complains about them.  _ Those boys.  _ She spits it out with disgust. _ Noisy, noisy boys _ . They’re always there, outside, making it impossible for cars to pass by. Playing cricket in the street where there’s a constant risk of the ball flying into someone’s house, breaking things and never apologizing, knowing their parents will pay for the damage.

Rowdy, chaotic and careless. Ami hated them, forbid Doyoung from playing with such nasty, improper boys, lest they influence him to do something stupid, taint him.

It made life difficult for Doyoung - not playing with them meant isolating himself from kids his age. It meant ostracizing himself completely, but it was okay, because if Ami jaan said it he’d listen without questioning her.

Adults would praise him on this when he was younger, on how obedient he was, what a good quiet little boy. He didn’t think it was about obedience, really. He just trusted his mother, trusted that whatever she said was for his own good.

Still, it was hard. Having no friends was hard. Listening to the shrieks and laughter of the kids outside was hard. Being stuck at home with nothing but books and the television while Ami was at work was hard. Being homeschooled was hard, and being lonely was hard. He’d been able to tolerate it before, when his brother was still at home, but ever since Gongmyung had left for university life had just become _ slow _ . It had become dreary and dull; every day Doyoung would wake up hoping for something _ exciting _ , but even if something exciting happened, he wouldn’t be  _ part _ of it, because he promised Ami he’d never get in any trouble.  _ God _ , Doyoung is just  _ bored. _

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Troye Sivan blasting in his ears - a valiant attempt to block out the noise coming from the rooftop in front of his house. Today was a Sunday, which meant every single teenager in the neighborhood was out to play.

They’d recently discovered kite flying, which meant every fifteen minutes some poor neighbor would find a band of kids (ages ranging anywhere from thirteen to nineteen) gathered outside their house asking them to “please, please uncle let us go onto your rooftop because we accidentally dropped a kite there, oh please uncle ji” (which was still better than them breaking someone’s window and then chanting “it was a mistake, we won’t do it again promise, it was a mistake, sorry ji, sorry” as if it would help).

To say no was a direct way to ensure that you’d become the subject of hot fresh gossip in the community, and  _ nobody _ wanted to be the asshole that turned the kids away. The politics of the neighborhood were confusing, and it was best for everyone involved if they just stepped aside and let the small army of kids retrieve whatever item they’d lost that week or break whatever vase their parents would eventually have to pay for.

They’d been going at it for about three hours now, and Doyoung  _ really _ wanted to try flying a kite too, because it sounded like it was a lot of fun, and he’d never done it before, and god dammit, it was such a nice, windy day too…

Doyoung forces himself out of bed, mp3 player in hand, and walks out onto the balcony. Leaning against the railing, he breathes in the fresh air, sparing a glance towards the house in front of his. There they all are, about twenty or so of them, mocking Doyoung with their kites and their stupid unfiltered joy. He doesn’t like feeling this bitter, he normally  _ isn’t  _ this bitter. There’s just something in the air today that’s making him act out.

He tries to force it down, whatever’s making him all irritable. Focuses on the positives instead - with all this noise, no one will hear him sing no matter how loud he is. It’s the perfect day, the perfect weather, the perfect setting. Clearing his throat, he scrolls through his mp3 to find the perfect song, eyes shining, excitement obvious. Landing on a song he felt was perfect for how he felt today, he starts singing.

🪁

On the other side, making the least amount of noise yet somehow creating the most chaos was Lee Taeyong, newly moved into house 2B, who’d been the one to introduce the thrill of kite fights to the neighborhood. An expert at kite flying, he cut down half of his competition’s kites at record speed, leaving everyone else in awe.

Just kidding. 

Taeyong’s actually really bad at kite flying, but, surrounded by complete beginners, he’s starting to feel like maybe,  _ maybe _ he’s not actually that bad. His fingers are turning red and raw because of the string, and Jisung hasn’t had a turn yet so he turns around and transfers the string to him, slipping the spool out of Jisung’s hands into his own, and then transferring  _ that _ over to someone else whose hands are empty - he’s not sure what his name is, Chenle or Renjun or Shotaro - it’s one of the kids, anyways.

He sits down on the floor, eyes wandering, taking in the beauty of the scenery in front of him. Lahore is always beautiful this time of the year. The sun’s beginning to set - they have probably another hour or so of daylight left before they have to pack up and go back inside their houses. The gorgeous sky and gentle breeze, combined with the joyful cheers of all his friends makes Taeyong feel at peace. Closing his eyes - and leaning back on his hands, facing the sky, he takes a moment to concentrate on the world, to listen, to feel. He hears crickets chirping, the caw of crows getting ready to fly home, a gorgeous voice singing something soft and melancholy-

Wait. A gorgeous voice singing something soft and melancholy? Someone’s singing? Taeyong cracks an eye open and glances around. None of his friends are singing, so where’s that voice coming from? Sitting up straight, he tries to glance around, but the railing is blocking his view. Walking up towards the railing, he leans leisurely against it and spots the source of the voice - a pretty, black haired boy wearing a white shirt beneath a loose black hoodie that he’s zipped up  _ just _ beneath his collarbones singing his heart out to the air, the birds, the kites, and to no one.

He watches the boy, and for a heartbeat it feels like the world has slowed down. Everything’s faded away, and they’re the only two people left on earth; like they’re in a film - everything’s out of focus except for him and his pretty, pretty voice singing a song Taeyong’s never heard before, a song he never wants to stop hearing. Everything feels fuzzy, and all he can hear is soft heartbreak and pain that feels like glitter - until someone bumps into him, hard, and he’s snapped out of his reverie, painfully dragged back to reality. It’s almost like he watches it happen - the world comes crashing back, and the boy’s voice fades away into the background, until the racket his friends are making is all he can hear. He turns for a split second to apologize to whoever bumped into him, and then whips his head back towards the boy, just to make sure he was real, that he wasn’t something Taeyong had imagined. He had felt too much bliss - Taeyong was scared he might’ve disappeared..

But no, the boy’s still there, still singing softly, his hair fluttering in the wind. Taeyong can’t stop watching him; it’s not just his voice, there’s something about him that’s drawing Taeyong into him, making him incapable of looking away. He knows staring like this at someone is considered offensive here, that those who lower their eyes and mind their business are respected, but he doesn’t care.

🪁

_ “Tell me if I’m back on my own, _

_ giving back a heart that’s on a loan, _

_ tell me if you wanna…” _

Doyoung’s voice fades away as he notices a boy leaning against the railing of the house in front of him, watching him carefully. Pausing mid-lyric, he stares into the boy’s eyes, and the boy stares right back. He gulps, his cheeks growing warmer by the second. He didn’t think anyone would be listening - didn’t think his voice would carry over through the wall of noise pollution the gaggle of teenagers had created, didn’t think anyone would bother to pay him any attention. Yet here this boy is, refusing to break eye contact. He looks dazed, and Doyoung wonders if he’s even sound of mind. He tilts his head curiously. The boy doesn’t look like someone who’d do drugs. Then again, Doyoung doesn’t really know what people who do drugs look like. Whatever, the point is, he doesn’t look like a creep.

He’s actually kind of cute, now that Doyoung thinks about it - his hair is black, with streaks of dull blue hair dye; he has adorable big eyes that take up half of his face and if Doyoung squints, he can make out the outline of two long earrings dangling from his ear.

He’s exactly what Ami would call a bad influence - piercings, hair dye, loud, wearing all black shalwar kameez with a silver chain that’s glinting in the fading sun… but he’s also gorgeous, and Doyoung is confused at what to do.

They’re still staring at each other. He’s barely conscious of the fact that the song he’d been singing has long since ended, barely registers the beginning of a different song. He feels like he’s being pulled into the other boy’s eyes, like there’s some invisible force calling out to him. He wonders if the other feels it too. His eyes start to sting; he blinks.

The connection breaks.

Doyoung feels like someone dunked his head in ice cold water and then pulled him out. He’s a little dazed, having forgotten to breathe. He glances back at the boy, and he smiles at Doyoung.

It makes something inside Doyoung quiver, and he stumbles back, breaking eye-contact. He turns around and leaves, retreating into the comfort of his self-induced prison. Matters of the heart were dangerous, stupid, and a waste of time. Exactly what he needs to avoid.

🪁 

When the nightingale-voiced boy meets Taeyong’s eyes, he swears his heart skips a beat. He’s absolutely mesmerized by how  _ pretty _ the boy is. With his pink, pouty lips and his wide, startled eyes… he looks like a bunny caught off guard. Cautious, skittish, like if Taeyong makes any sudden moves, he’ll start running. So, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything. He just stares at him, maintains eye-contact. He doesn’t even breathe, just waits. For what, he’s not sure. It’s not like the boy would come over and talk to him - he’s heard of him before, the home-schooled shut-in of house 1B. 

Still, he waits.

Eventually, the boy breaks eye contact to scan Taeyong - no, seriously, to scan him from head to toe, his eyes lingering on Taeyong’s long legs, his dangling cross earrings, and his lips. His eyes find Taeyong’s again, and Taeyong, his hands gripping the railing, his back to the sunset, kites fluttering above his head, smiles at him. It’s an invitation, an olive branch. 

It’s a signal, a message.  _ Do you want to be friends? _

The other boy’s reaction shocks him - he stumbles backwards, and flutters back into his house. Taeyong blinks, confused. 

_ Well that was odd _ , he thinks, turning back towards his friends.

🪁

Taeyong has a problem.

Well. Okay, it’s not really a problem. It’s more of a nagging feeling. An urge. Okay, it’s a problem.

He just can’t get that boy out of his mind. He’d actually stooped low enough to ask the gossip aunties about any details they’d had on him. It hadn’t ended well - they’d been very nosy and curious about  _ why _ he was asking. He’d ended up telling them he was asking because he’d wanted to invite all the boys of their gali to a party, and he’d wanted to ask Doyoung there too. Not the smartest move, actually; everyone’s been hounding him for the details of a party he didn’t plan on throwing in the first place. He’s had to break it to about thirty overexcited kids that no, there isn’t any party, it’s just a silly, baseless rumor (he’s pretty sure they all hate him now).

Taeyong’s a bit of a brat; spoiled by his family, used to getting everything he wants by batting his eyelashes, and  god dammit , he wants Doyoung - wants to be the first person outside of his immediate family to get close to him.

It won’t be easy, but whatever Taeyong wants, Taeyong gets.

🪁

Sighing internally, Doyoung dutifully gets ready for tea with one of Ami’s friends. Ironing out the wrinkles on his plain gray kurta, he thinks about telling Ami jaan about how much he absolutely despised these evenings with her prayer group - how much he hated being paraded around like a prized horse, how awkward it was for him to be showered by praise, to be the standard that all mothers compared their kids to. He knew they all  hated him, could feel the knives they’d glare into his back every time someone so much as  _ mentioned _ his name.

He thinks about how terrible it makes him feel.

And then he thinks about Ami. Poor Ami, left alone without a husband; Ami, who had to single-handedly raise two sons; Ami, who’d taken it upon herself to home-school Doyoung when she realized it would be impossible to pay for both of her children’s education alone; Ami, who had put every bit of her happiness into her children.

His Ami, who saw her children as the brightest lights in her life. Surely, he could do something as small as this for her? 

And what was so bad about chai and biscuits with Ami’s friends anyway?

🪁

Right.

This was what was bad about chai and biscuits with Ami’s friends.

Sitting awkwardly on the carpet with his legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, gaze lowered out of respect, Doyoung internally cringes as one by one the aunties gush over how tall he’s gotten, and how well he’s grown up. They comment on his smooth skin, his soft cheeks, point out his kurta and coo collectively when Doyoung’s mother mentions how he’d picked it out for himself and ironed it himself. He glances away, his ears burning bright red as they start complaining about their own sons, one by one. He doesn’t want to be here, it doesn’t feel right to be here and - oh no.

Doyoung wants to dig himself into a hole and die.

One of the mothers - the host for today, most probably, had decided simply badmouthing her son was not enough, no; she needed to  _ call him downstairs _ .

Jisung comes running downstairs after the third call. No one says anything, but they’d all noticed the fact that he hadn’t responded instantly- a sign of bad manners in a child.

“Jee, Ami jaan? I was playing ludo with Amir and Hamza, sorry for not responding fast enough.”

The energy in the room goes from being tense to relaxed instantly. An apology, for a matter as small as responding late to your mother’s call meant  _ good _ manners.

Yeah, Doyoung doesn’t understand it either. But he’s learned that it’s better to just  _ not _ question desi aunties. It’s like sticking your hand in a jar full of bees. It’s stupid, it’s dangerous, and why would anyone have a jar full of bees in the first place?

Jisung clearly looks like he’s barely holding himself back from rolling his eyes as his mother points out Doyoung to him, how self-sufficient he is and how obedient a son he is.

“Beta, you won’t even  _ believe _ how good his chai was - I had three cups! Poor boy was going back and forth from the kitchen, not a single break. It got me wondering,” she says, turning her face back towards the circle of middle-aged women, “why doesn’t my Jisung do the same when we have guests? I’m sure you all can relate - our sons just refuse to help, right? No hosting skills at all.”

Jisung stands there, hands balled into tiny fists, and Doyoung wishes he could walk over and tell him how much he hates this, too. How much he wishes he could go upstairs with Jisung and play ludo with his friends…how badly he wishes he had friends. He feels so lonely. And he knows it’s his own fault, but god, he wishes someone would put in the effort, wishes someone would try to break down his walls, wishes someone would  _ care.  _ He wishes someone would just  _ try _ to get close to him. He wishes he could be someone worthy of friendship, of love.

Jisung isn’t sure how he’s supposed to react, so he simply waits for the humiliation to be over. Surely enough, after a few minutes his mother waves her hand dismissively and he takes his leave, bowing out of the room. If Doyoung tries to catch his eye, with some semblance of an apology in his gaze, Jisung does not notice.

Doyoung sighs. The things he did for his Ami.

🪁

Walking home, one hand in Ami’s hand, Doyoung stays silent. Ami glances over at him, concerned.

“Doyoung? Beta?”

He hums so she knows he’s listening.

“What’s wrong, jaan? Was it something they said?”

Doyoung doesn’t reply, not wanting to admit anything that would hurt her. But Ami, quick-witted as always, catches on instantly.

“Do you not like meeting my friends? Because you don’t have to, you know. I just want you to be happy, beta. They like seeing you, but that doesn’t mean that they  _ have _ to.”

Doyoung’s heart feels conflicted. On one hand, he knows these trips are at least half of the reason why every kid his age dislikes him. On the other, he knows how happy it makes his mother to hear her son being praised. In a society where single parents - especially single mothers - are scrutinized and constantly looked down upon, to have proof of her wonderful parenting laid out for the world to see… he knows how much it means to her mother.

He likes being one of the reasons for Ami’s pride and joy. But he would also like to have someone to be his friend. And not hate him.

He sighs, and turns to his mother, eyes wide with a tinge of guilt in them. She looks at him softly, pinches his cheek gently, and nods. “I got it, beta, no need to say anything. Don’t worry about it. Besides, all those compliments were getting to my head anyways, huh? There’s only so much I can hear before I start throwing up.” She giggles childishly, and it makes Doyoung grin too. Ami’s always so cute, he thinks. Looping arms with her, he kisses her cheek and tells her he loves her.

🪁

It’s later that same day that Doyoung hears the sound of music blasting from the rooftop across his. House 2B, where that pretty, noisy boy lives.

Ami had said his name was Taeyong.

She’d told Doyoung his name with the same glint in her eyes that she’d get when she used to tease Gongmyung about his crush back in seventh grade. Doyoung had chosen to ignore that connection.

He puts on his slippers and tiptoes upstairs to the rooftop, trying not to wake Ami from her nap - socializing with her friends always made Ami tired. Doyoung was like her in that sense; while he was quite good at socializing - charming everyone he meets with ease and grace, a trait many people had told him was rare - he also got exhausted easily, and after Eid or some other big festival he’d sleep for twelve hours straight, his body buzzing and mind powering down.

He’s not sure why he’s here, honestly. It’s not the first time he’s had his peaceful evenings disrupted by the house across his, not the first time Taeyong’s blasted songs loud enough to reach all four edges of their small corner of the world.

Then again, he hadn’t known about Taeyong back then.

Upon reaching the rooftop, he spots Taeyong, who has his eyes shut tight, his body moving along to the music. He’s a vision in his black kurta; sleeves rolled up, his hair all tousled and messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He’s dancing softly, gracefully, spinning and whirling around, completely lost to the world. He looks absolutely breathtaking, he looks magical… he looks like the Bollywood actors Doyoung’s grown up watching on screen. He’s sure he knows this song - heard it in a film he’d watched ages ago, where the main love interests are dancing in the rain, the world fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of them. That’s how Doyoung feels right now, like the world has faded away, like there’s no one else around except for them, like time is standing still for both of them. There’s nothing tethering him to Earth anymore, except for the pretty boy dancing his soul out in front of him.

Doyoung feels mesmerized, but there’s a part of him that feels like this is wrong, like he’s intruding, like he’s trying to be a part of something that he shouldn’t even know was happening. He tears his eyes away from Taeyong and practically has to force his limbs to carry him back downstairs, away from the dancing fairy on the rooftop.

It takes his heart a full half hour to calm down, and that’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. If his dreams that night are full of two boys dancing together in the moonlight, well, nobody needs to know.

🪁

There’s always drama when you’re friends with quite literally everyone in the neighborhood. 

Taeyong hears about it from Abdullah, who heard it from Hamza, who was there the day Jisung got chewed out by his mother for not being a good enough son (unlike  _ Kim Doyoung _ ). The boys of the gali all seemed to have formed their own opinion on Doyoung, despite never having truly spoken to him beyond a brief s _ alaam _ outside the masjid. They all think he’s a stuck up brat who thinks he’s too good to hang out with everyone else his age,  _ which is probably why he only talks to the elders _ , they all say nastily. No one likes a stuck-up, especially not one that seemed to be the best thing since daal chawal.

Taeyong doesn’t really believe anything anyone says about Doyoung - doubts their source of information, because only Allah knows how biased it is. There’s more to Doyoung than his perfect boy image - Taeyong’s sure of it. And this whole incident with Jisung has given him a plan... 

🪁

The first step, obviously, is Jisung.

“No. Absolutely not. That’s creepy, Taeyong bhaiya.”

“But, Jisung, come on, you owe me one, remember last week when we were playing ludo and I let you go free  _even though_ I had the perfect number of moves to take you off the board and win the whole game? Remember, you said you’d pay me back in gold?  _ Well this is the gold.” _

“But… Taeyong bhaiya,  _ why _ do you even  _ care  _ about whether or not Doyoung bhai comes to my house?”

Taeyong groans internally. Why do children have to be so damn inquisitive? “Jisung, yaar, that’s not what matters. Will you just - next time he comes over with his amma, can you just let me know? Just text me?”

Jisung eyes him suspiciously, not willing to give in just yet.

Taeyong raises his eyebrow at him.

“You do know we bet 300 rupees on that game right? Wanna pay me back instead?” Taeyong smirks, knowing Jisung doesn’t have a penny to his name after last week’s game - just because Taeyong went easy on him doesn’t mean everyone else did.

Jisung nods dejectedly. He knows when he’s been beaten. (And Taeyong knows exactly how to win). “Jee, Taeyong bhaiya, I’ll text you, promise.”

Taeyong grins. Now, for step two. (He doesn’t have a step two yet).

🪁

Something’s changed. Or maybe Taeyong’s overthinking again.

It’s just… He could’ve sworn he hasn’t seen Doyoung hang out on the roof this much in… well, ever. He’s there almost every single day now, just… sitting there, reading a book, sipping on a cup of tea, watching the sunset; once, the sunrise. Listening to music, scribbling away in a notebook.

He doesn’t sing though. And on some days he seems visibly uncomfortable, like he knows someone’s watching him. Still, he comes every day. It’s weird. It’s weird because everyone says he’s a shut-in, it’s weird because before that day with the kites, Doyoung has never really bothered to come upstairs, in plain view of everyone. He likes staying inside, prefers the dim lighting of his room over the sunlight.

Taeyong’s surprised that he’s noticed so much about the neighbor no one seems to know anything about.

🪁

Doyoung has nothing to say for himself, really. When Ami asks him if he wants to join her for chai again, he declines, and she ruffles his hair. Which is all fine. Until of course, she asked him - with an all-knowing look in her eyes - if he was going to spend the day out on the rooftop.

If there’s any downside to having a quick-witted mother, it’s  _ this _ . Ami  _ knows _ he’s not just going out there for the fresh air. Only Allah knows how she knows, but she  _ does _ . And Doyoung has nothing to say for himself, because he’s been caught. With a weak grin, he nods, and looks away embarrassedly as Ami giggles at him and kisses his forehead.

“Beta… you’re so sweet.” She says, smiling fondly. “Just be careful, alright? Don’t get your  heart broken  by anyone, even if he  _ is _ very pretty.”

“Amiiii” he says, dragging out each vowel to show how much he _ didn’t _ want to talk about this, practically pushing her out the front door.

His cheeks now a dusty pink, he grabs a book by his favorite author, Khaled Hosseini, and heads upstairs. He is absolutely  _ not _ trying to catch a glimpse of Lee Taeyong. No, not at all.

🪁

Taeyong gets the text he’s been waiting for all week -  _ They’re here. But Doyoung didn’t come with his Ami today. _

He didn’t come along with his mom? So… does that mean he’s home?

The cogs in Taeyong’s head start spinning, but he’s not sure what exactly to do. It’s not like he could go over without an actual reason, and it’s not like there’s any guarantee Doyoung would open the door if he comes asking for sugar - neighborly kindness only goes so far.

_ Hold on. _

_ It was best for everyone involved if they just stepped aside and let the kids retrieve whatever they’d lost that day. _

Internally, Taeyong thanks the stupid invisible rules of the society around them for giving him an excuse to go knocking at Doyoung’s door, for the guarantee that he’d open the door.

Calling over a few of his friends to come fly kites with him, Taeyong sets aside one of his favorite blue kites for Doyoung, scribbling a little message onto it for him.

Scrambling upstairs to the rooftop, he glances over to the house in front of his and there he is, just where Taeyong thought he’d be; immersed in a book, wearing earphones.

Taeyong wants to ask him about the book he’s reading, wants to know more about his music taste. He wonders if they have any artists in common…

If today goes right, he’s certain he’ll be able to ask Doyoung that and more.

It takes all of fifteen minutes for his friends to arrive, another twenty for them to gather themselves together properly and start the battle. Luckily, today’s the perfect day for kite flying, windy without being too aggressive, and there’s still a few hours  till sunset. They’ve been flying kites for a while until Taeyong flies his straight into a trap - right above Doyoung’s house.

Totally not on purpose.

Mark, who’s the one who cut off Taeyong’s kite, whoops in celebration, laughing at Taeyong, excited about having cut down the “professional’s” kite. (Seriously, these boys have no clue how bad all of them are at this). Taeyong grins up at Mark and high-fives him for a good job. When they all suggest going over to Doyoung’s house to get the kite back, Taeyong refuses in what he hopes is a calm, totally-not-insane manner. Insisting that he could retrieve it himself, and they should just continue going without him until there’s only one kite in the sky (the winner’s).

Taeyong runs his hands over his plain black kameez, rolls his sleeves up further, adjusting the plain silver chain resting on his collarbones. After thinking about it for a second, he opens another button on his kameez. For no real reason. Turning around, he looks over again towards Doyoung, who’s already gazing at him, blue diamond shaped kite in hand.

🪁

Doyoung finds himself in the same spot he was in two weeks ago- on the rooftop, alone, by himself, while Taeyong and his large band of friends fly kites and generate more noise pollution than necessary. A part of him feels bitter, mostly towards himself. Why can’t he just get up, knock on their door and ask to be included? Why must his pride refuse to let him beg for company? Why does he have to be so  _ difficult? _

_ This is why you have no friends _ , says something inside him, and he can’t help but agree as he flips over another page and steals a glance over at Taeyong. Now. Look at him, a vision in his plain black clothes and silver jewelry. Doyoung doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as Lee Taeyong, not even on the television. He doesn’t really believe that someone that pretty is  _ real.  _ That’s why it’s just so easy to pretend like he could be friends with Taeyong, why it’s so easy to daydream about him; because he doesn’t feel real.

Doyoung’s fully engrossed in his book when a kite comes and lands gracefully near his feet. Placing his bookmark inside carefully so as to not lose his place in a book he’s already read seven times before (because why not), he gently picks up the pretty blue kite with both hands, and flips it over. It has something written on it - a question, an invitation.  _ Do you want to learn how to fly a kite? _

He glances up at the rooftop across his, his eyes zeroing in on Taeyong instantly despite the thirteen boys surrounding him, as if he has some kind of Taeyong-centric tunnel-vision. He’s unbuttoning the second button of his kameez and Doyoung feels his mouth go dry at the sight of his pretty collarbones. He shakes his head a little bit to get his thoughts back on track -  _ this is a real person, you idiot, _ and glances up to meet Taeyong’s eyes. His breath hitches when Taeyong looks straight into his eyes at the same time.

_ God, _ he thinks. _ How do you already have access to my heart and chest? When we haven’t even spoken yet? _

They gaze at each other for a second, after which Taeyong tilts his head towards the kite in Doyoung’s hands, and raises his eyebrows. A silent question.

Looking down at the kite in his hands, Doyoung thinks. This is it - this is his moment to finally,  _ finally _ decide for himself. Whether he wanted to continue being lonely or open up to this… feeling. In his chest every time he looks at Taeyong. To open up to the possibility of a friend - maybe even something more than just a friend.

A deep breath. He makes a decision.

Raising his head up to meet Taeyong’s eyes once again, Doyoung gives him one of his special gummy smiles, one that comes straight from his heart, and nods. And the pure glee on Taeyong’s face is something Doyoung swears he’ll never forget. Slipping his shoes on, he gets ready for something new, something exciting.

He can’t wait to hear what the aunties have to say about  _ this _ new development.

**Author's Note:**

> might eventually write a sequel for this one, really wanna explore this world’s doyoung and taeyong a bit more sooo stay tuned for that? maybe? :D heh
> 
> (p.s. happy valentine’s day, tabea ♡)


End file.
